


Damn Straight

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [129]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Nat is an excellent bro, Pining, Sexual Orientation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Steve has questions about his orientation. Nat already knows one of the answers.





	Damn Straight

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Orientation issues (confusion; discovery and/or coming out). Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/prompts).

“I’m pretty sure I’m not gay.”

“Okay,” Nat said, springing back up to her feet. “Whatever. That’s cool.”

“I mean,” Steve said, taking a big step back, because Nat was never more dangerous than after she’d been knocked down, “I’m not sure I would know if I was. I don’t know what being gay feels like.”

She was in a low stance, her fists raised, her expression especially murderous. “Really? Well, what does being straight feel like?”

He blinked. “Huh. I don’t know, I--”

And then her knee was in his jaw, her boot a blindshot to his chest, and he was the one his back, doing his damnedest to breathe. She leaned down and swallowed his line of sight,  grinning, all white teeth and tough shit.

“My point being,” Nat said, “that it’s not as simple as that. Feeling gay or straight or otherwise.” She tilted her head. “You do know there’s an otherwise, right? A lot of them.”

Steve made a face. “Nat, come on. I read the internet.”

She snorted and pitched back, offered him a good-natured hand. “See, a sentence like that is exactly why I worry about you. Please tell me you haven’t googled ‘how do I know I’m gay.’ Please.”

“Ehhhhh,” he said, blushing like the 12-year old kid this whole subject made him feel like. “Maybe.”

“It was all porn, wasn’t it?”

“A good 95% of it, yeah.”

She took him by the arm and started steering him towards the showers. “Any of it instructive?”

“What? _No_."

"Uh huh."

"I mean, it was...what it was, but it was hardly Encyclopedia Britannica.”

“Jesus, you’re old, Rogers. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“Hilarious, Romanov. You’re a real Jack Benny.”

She snorted. “I know you did that on purpose, but still. Proved my point.”

They banged through the double doors into the ridiculously plush locker room that Steve had found far too easy to get used to. A pointless extravagance, yes, as he’d insisted to Tony a half dozen times, but now, after six months of the place, six month of living in the new compound, Steve had shut his yap and maybe started training a little extra just to have an excuse to spend time in the glorious bamboo-wrapped stalls each with three individual heads.

“One more question,” Nat called from the cubicle next to his a few minutes later, pitching her voice over the spray.

“Yeah?”

“Who is it that’s got you wondering if you might be something other than straight?”

Steve dropped the shampoo and his whole body went solid lobster. “I, uh. Do what?”

Nat laughed. “Come on, give it up, Steve. Nice boys like you don’t wake up one day asking themselves that out of nowhere. There’s got to be someone who's put the idea in your head.”

“Pffffft.”

“That’s the exact opposite of an answer.”

“And maybe,” Steve said, defensive, “that’s exactly the point. Maybe it’s none of your business, huh? Did you ever think of that?.”

There was a long, sodden silence.

“Oh, god,” Nat said, her voice filled with wonder, “it’s Tony, isn’t it?”

It felt like she’d kicked him in the chest again. “What?!” he coughed out. “Of course not.”

“It _is_!”

“Nat, come on, you can’t--”

“I won’t tell a soul,” she crowed. “You know I won’t, but let me just have this moment to say: I fucking knew it.”

Steve leaned his forehead against the tile. “Great. Thanks for that.”

He heard her shower shut off, heard her sigh as the spray stopped. “You’re not that obvious about it, if that makes you feel better. There’s no way that Stark knows you have a massive crush on him.”

“Great,” Steve said again. “That is just goddamn great.”

The door to her cubicle banged open and then he heard her voice again, way too close: “Tell me something, Rogers. Have you ever kissed a guy?”

He looked up to see her bright sneaky grin; she’d pulled herself up the outside of his door and was looking down, peering in.

Steve hid behind a strategic shower head, his face a fire engine. “Damn it, Nat! No.”

She looked skeptical. “Not even Bucky? I’ve read some of the stuff from back in the day, and if you read between the lines, it seems to kind of say--”

“No,” Steve said again. “I never kissed Bucky.”

Her face lit up. “Ah! But you wanted to, didn’t you?”

He chucked a washcloth at her. “Get the hell out of my shower, Romanov.”

Natasha hopped down, hollered: “All-hands meeting at seven, Cap, and you’re mine after that. We need a plan. Operation Get Steve Rogers a Man.”

Steve buried his face in his hands, tried to chase back his smile. “You’re a madwoman, Nat, you know that?”

She called something in Russian he didn't understand but that sounded a lot like: _damn straight_.


End file.
